


Ghosts

by wilyasha



Series: Firewall [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 14:51:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11831025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilyasha/pseuds/wilyasha
Summary: Allura knows what she saw when she absorbed that witch's wispy dark alchemy. She knows what she saw after manipulating that darkness until it reverberated through her, glowing pink in the dimness of Zarkon's ship. She knows the Altean face that stared back at her.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> This entire series really diverges from the canon timeline and ventures into AU territory. This interlude story in particular takes place several days after [Autonomy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11802795). This is also my attempt to write less angst and more fluff, before this series gets into Keith's weird alien biology and the grimdark angst. 
> 
> Content Warnings: No real triggering type content. The only thing is a conversation between cousins and a rehashing of the past.

“Can we talk?” asks Allura. She’s been pacing outside the laboratory for hours, scuffing her feet against the floor. She stubbed her big toe twice, leaving two recruits giggling into their hands as they passed by. She almost wishes she had stayed out in the corridor. 

Larka’s laboratory is stiflingly warm. It’s large and opulent, but occupied by so many tables. There are shelves stocked with flasks and outdated equipment. Many shallow, transparent dishes sit across one table, something yellow and organic growing in their own tiny jungles. Data tablets sit stacked on the far side of the room. The floor heating pumps out waves of hot air through the solid stone, seeping through Allura's shoes and into the soles of her feet. 

“How are you working in here?” Allura asks, rubbing at the dampness collecting on her collarbone. “Do you want me to turn down the heat?”

Larka has not looked up since Allura has arrived. She sits, hunched over a gunmetal gray machine. It chugs away, belching and groaning as Larka pours some green liquid into a hole on its side. Her dark purple hair is haphazardly piled on her head, curling wildly in the humid room, as she uses her other hand to tap away on the holographic screen above her. 

“I know you’re probably busy, but Thace told me you’d be in here,” Allura starts. “I know with Shiro missing and Antok in critical condition, you need to focus on your tasks but I noticed that you haven’t been training or coming to our dinners. I thought we could, possibly, maybe spend some time together. While everyone regroups, you know? Like old times. Just you and I, sneaking around and—”

“You’re rambling,” Larka says, placing the flask of green liquid beside the gurgling machine. She finally turns around. Her eyes look a bit sunken, like she hasn’t been sleeping. Allura says nothing. “You only ramble when you’re nervous. Spit it out, Allura. I have to synthesize this antibiotic. Antok’s infection isn’t responding to the refined quintessence we have stocked here.”

Allura raises an eyebrow. “He’s not responding to the normal cell regenerative techniques?”

“No,” Larka, says turning back to the holographic screen. She types away some results. “I’ve been working on a type of synthetic quintessence, one that could be used for in-field restoration healing so that our undercover Blades don't have to rely on the Empire's rations. I haven’t had much success… unfortunately.” She sighs loudly. “But perhaps this antibiotic will help his wounds more. I’d rather not have Antok so dependent on a synthetic prototype if it _may_ work.”

Allura licks her lips, shifting her weight to one foot. Her silence makes Larka turn back around. 

“What? I know you dislike that we still use quintessence, but it's something that must be done.”

The Altean princess clears her throat, crossing her arms over her chest. “No, it isn't that. It's just that you… you sound like your mother. You look like her in your old age.”

Larka grimaces. “Are you calling me old?”

“It’s what I said, isn’t? I see you’re graying behind the ears already, old woman,” Allura teases.

“Don’t,” Larka chuffs. “It isn’t funny. That graying is stress related.” Despite the truth of her words, Larka smiles mischievously. “It’s not as if you aren’t turning into your mother. Although, you’re more openly obnoxious about your opinions.”

Although Allura feels the pang of pain and jealousy whirlwind beneath her chest, she manages to smile back. The real reason she came to the laboratory resurfaces. 

“Could you take a break?” Allura asks.

“Not really,” Larka purses her lips. “Ulaz could take over for me, but I don’t know where he is.”

“He’s with Keith, out searching for Shiro,” says Allura. “Maybe I can call Pidge. She would love to read over your notes.” 

Larka narrows her eyes. “It’s not that I don’t mind the girl looking over my research; I could use the additional hands. But Allura, what’s really going on?”

Allura takes a deep breath, walking slowly over to her cousin. “When you were on Gal, training with the druids after the destruction of Altea, you worked with Haggar, correct?”

Larka furrows her brows. “Zarkon’s witch? Yes,” she answers, “my father made her royal advisor. She oversaw my tutoring after the schools were destroyed on Daibazaal. When I was organizing the reconstruction on Gal she would come to see me. She backed my claim as heir when Lotor wished to control more of whatever quiznaking project he was lording over at the time. That doesn’t mean I ever really trusted her. She just appeared one day. No one really questioned her powers. Why?”

Allura feels cold inside, frozen within her own apprehension. 

“Allura?” Larka prods, concern heavy in her voice.

“Did she ever seem strange to you?”

Larka lets out a bark of laughter. “Strange? Have you seen her? You’ve been on an Imperial vessel. You’ve seen them. She dresses all her druids in these—”

“That’s not what I mean,” Allura interrupts. “Did she feel strange like she was hiding something? Did she, maybe, feel familiar?”

“No,” Larka shrugs, her purple brows furrowing. “She always seemed overeager in molding me, but I just assumed she was like that with every apprentice.” The half Galran sighs. “Allura, what is this all about? You complain that I’ve been estranged since you all incapacitated Zarkon, but you’re speaking in riddles. You’ve taken an interest in alchemy, in _druid magic_ of all things.” Larka sounds stunned. “I know that with—”

Allura can’t take Larka’s patronizing tone anymore. She feels like they’re children again, caught in the kitchens by Alfor as they looked for desserts. Except her father isn't here anymore to reach up and grab the candies for them. He isn't here to sneak them cream-filled pastries before dinner, while they hide in the gardens with their hands covered in sticky sugar and sweet sauces. She's responsible for her actions now and she’ll deal with the consequences later. “When I fought Haggar I was able to absorb her magic. It did something to me… or I did something to it… I was able to control and I used it. I was still weak compared to her, but I think she was shocked that I was able to take her dark void magic and refine it into an energy like that of alchemy. I didn’t understand how I was able to accomplish that and that is why I’ve been so interested in alchemy, in understanding it. But that isn’t everything,” Allura explains.

“W-what?” Larka practically warbles out. “Why didn’t you tell me that you can use—” 

“Did you ever see Haggar’s face?” Allura interrupts again. “Did she always keep her cowl up? Did she ever show you her face, Larka? I don’t think so, because I saw it. At first I thought it was a trick, I thought it was nothing but her magic clouding my eyes after I had absorbed it.” 

Larka has grown quiet as Allura takes a few steps towards her.

“Larka, I thought she died and I know you did, too, but Haggar isn’t some Galran druid serving as Zarkon’s advisor. She’s,” her voice cracks she’s so anxious, “she’s your mother.”

Larka visibly recoils, her upper lip curling in disgust. 

“At first I thought she was just Altean, but when we got back to the Castle, I knew it was _her_. I don’t think she ever died. I think she’s been alive this whole time, pretending to just be Zarkon’s advisor. But she looked emaciated like when she was constantly in her laboratory, working and working. I remembered you complaining about how she locked herself away with her research. I didn’t want to believe it and I haven’t even said anything to anyone, but I had to tell you first because what if she—”

“Get out.”

“—tried to tell you who she was. Or maybe she didn’t know who she… What?” Allura swallows thickly. “Larka, I just had to tell you. I didn’t want to keep this from—”

“Please, leave.”

Allura sighs. “Larka, please…”

Larka turns back to her research, her trembling hand grabbing the flask with the green liquid. She begins to pour anew. Allura leaves. 

\--

Nothing else matters when the following quintant, Larka’s antibiotic serum leaves Antok revitalized and regenerating. Larka is no longer holed up within her laboratory. It is a surprise to Allura when Larka appears in her bedroom aboard the Castle of Lions. 

“You’ve finally managed to maneuver the castleship,” Larka says, strolling into her bedroom as if they haven't been separated by ten thousand years. “I’m surprised you managed to pilot this old thing through that narrow amount of space.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have put your base inside an asteroid between two black holes,” Allura says flippantly, placing the tablet she was reading from on the side table. She is careful to not disturb the sleeping space mice on their little pillow. “I heard Antok is well.”

“He won’t be taking any more field missions for a while,” Larka says, meandering her way to Allura’s dressing table. She drags her fingers across Allura’s things: the coarse-bristled brush with the delicate wood handle, the glittering starfire hairpins, the pot of tinted pink blush. All old things from a long time ago, but Allura doesn’t have the heart to toss them in the trash compactor. The first thing she had done when she came out of her deep sleep, and finally had a moment to herself, was dust and clean her childhood bedroom aboard the Castle of LIons. 

“I’m sorry,” Larka says, startling Allura out of her reverie. “I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. Sometimes I forget that you’re still the same cousin I left ten thousand years ago and I’m a completely different person now.”

Allura feels her stomach churn and her eyes burn with brimming tears. She knows she’s at fault, too. 

Larka continues, “I’ll be willing to teach you what I know, about both alchemy and the void magic of the druids. I should have said that before when you told me. It’s better that I do it than Haggar finding and using you for whatever she could be planning.”

“I know you loved her,” Allura says. “I knew how close you two were. I didn’t think it was fair of me to not tell you if she was alive.” 

Allura can see Larka’s throat swallow, bulging around shame and anger and exhaustion.

“My mother left me a long time ago,” Larka says. “Whatever Haggar is, it’s not Honerva.”

Larka shakes her head, grabbing the brush from the dressing table and sitting behind her on the bed. Carefully, Larka detangles the remaining pins from Allura’s hair, shaking the soft white waves free. Slowly, Larka brushes her hair, careful to pick apart the few knots. She gently scrapes her fingernails across Allura’s scalp, pulling the hair softly. 

“We need to look to the future, Allura. We need to focus on Voltron and liberating those under Zarkon’s remaining regime,” Larka says, brushing the sides of Allura’s hair. She accidentally scrapes across the tip of her ear and Allura hisses. “Sorry.” Larka goes over the spot more delicately.

“It’s alright,” she responds. “I understand what you're saying, but we’re missing a paladin. Who knows where Shiro is… How did he disappear from Black? And with Keith still searching for him, there’s no way we can come together right now.”

“You _must_ find a way,” Larka says. “Without Voltron—”

“I know, I know,” Allura sulks. Despite her moodiness, Allura manages to relax, allowing herself to lean back into Larka’s hands and the hairbrush. 

“If Kythel can pilot the Black Lion, couldn’t you… pilot the Red Lion?” Larka asks, stalling for a moment, the bristles tickling Allura’s nape.

“I-I don’t know. It’s one thing to pilot the Castle, but the Red Lion…” Allura trails off, softly. Her eyes burn again and she rubs the back of her hand against them to stall the tears. “I miss them, my parents. I miss them so much.”

Larka sighs softly, combing through the tangled curls at the ends of Allura’s hair. “I know.” She halts, placing the brush down on the blankets and embracing the Altean princess. Allura leans back, her body sagging with comfortable relief. 

“What if the Red Lion doesn’t accept me? What if Lance wants to pilot Red?” Allura makes a groan of frustration. 

“Lance is the paladin that wishes to court you, correct?” Larka asks, smiling into Allura's hair. 

“Stop,” Allura groans again.

“He has the disposition of Uncle Blaytz,” Larka teases.

“Please, I’m begging you,” Allura pleads, leaning away from Larka, and tossing herself sideways on the bed.

“Alright, alright,” Larka says, “I’ll stop.” She picks up the brush and walks back to the dressing table. Larka places it down as the room becomes quiet and all they can hear is the soft snores from the space mice.

“Were you there when he killed them?” Allura asks, shattering the silence. “When Zarkon killed Blaytz and my father?”

Larka stills, turning around with her expression unreadable. She shakes her head. “Zarkon killed Blaytz within the first year of the war while you were on Altea. From my knowledge, Trigel had been sent to a work camp and Gyrgan had come to rescue her. I didn’t know where they had gone to until your father sent word for me to come to Altea in secret. That’s when I found out that Blaytz had been executed by Zarkon. I handled getting the Blue Lion to safety while Trigel and Gyrgan took care of their own. Your father ordered your mother to handle the Red Lion while he stayed at the citadel. That was the last time I heard anything from Trigel and Gyrgan. King Alfor told me to go back to my father’s side, but I knew Gyrgan perished later on and Trigel quickly followed.”

“And my mother and father?” Allura asks, eyes glistening.

“Zarkon held a celebration after he defeated King Alfor,” Larka swallows thickly. “As for Queen Amue, I assumed she perished on Altea. That was all I was told or knew about. I am sorry, Allura.”

Allura closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She wants to pry, but asking for too much information may scare Larka off. Yet she feels so desperate to find out more, if Alfor told Larka anything else. 

The door to her bedroom suddenly slides open, finally waking the space mice and sending them scampering and squeaking across the side table. 

“Does anyone around here knock anymore?” Allura asks, grudgingly painting a smile on her face. 

“Oh!” It is Pidge, nervously watching the both of them. “I was looking for one of… you?” She says nervously, not knowing which one to talk to. “I hope I wasn’t interrupting.”

“Not at all,” Larka says. “We were just talking about—”

“Old spirits,” Allura interrupts. 

Larka’s eyebrows raise and Pidge looks like she’s not convinced. 

“Old spirits, right…” Pidge says, eyes narrowing even more. 

“Actually, we were talking about young paladin Lance’s romantic affections for Allura,” Larka says, a small smile playing on her lips.

Pidge laughs, a side-shaking laughter that’s so infectious that Larka joins in. They spend the next few ticks dodging pillow after pillow as Allura pinwheels her arms away.


End file.
